Category: At Home

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“The pumpkins are funny. You, you aren’t that funny.”

My six-year-old’s latest passion is telling me I’m “not that funny.”

Kayla has invented a “Funny Meter’ and tells me daily that I’m “only half-way there,” while she and Bill are “way at the top of the Funny Meter.”

Given that I like to inject humor into much of my writing, my ego could get a rather big bruising here, but I love this little game we’re playing too much to honestly let it bother me.

I find myself making more jokes when she’s nearby, trying to inch my way up the Funny Meter. Yesterday, I got her laughing about our rotting pumpkins. I even resorted to some potty humor. Kids love that stuff.

“That one out there in the garden? The one that’s frowning? He’s saying ‘There’s frost on my bum! Get me outta here! I didn’t sign up for this!”

Kayla started to giggle.

“Hey! You’re laughing!” I said. “I’m funny!”

“No,” she retorted. “The pumpkins are funny. You, you aren’t that funny.”

And with that, she was off on her school bus, and I was left walking home, laughing at what had just transpired; wondering how to make my kid laugh at my jokes again before she hits Tweenhood and finds me not only not-funny but also not-cool.

This morning, I got her laughing by verbally creating an alternate ending to something on TV. But this kid is always one step ahead of me.

“Hey! You’re laughing! I’m funny! I’m funny,” I said, laughing at myself, and the desperation in my tone.

“Oh, no.” said my stubborn child, her face frozen, expressionless. “No, you aren’t.”

“My mouth was laughing, but my mind didn’t find you that funny.”

I hope she’s a little easier on me when she’s all grown up and attending Law school. Somehow, I doubt it. That’s okay. I’m happy just being her Mom; happy to stay smack in the mediocre-middle of the Funny Meter.

I just hope those pumpkins don’t move up any higher.

Funny Pumpkins, copyright Heather Grace Stewart, 2011
'My mouth was laughing...but...." copyright Heather Grace Stewart
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Mike Holmes, I Think I Love You

My crush on Mike Holmes could turn into a flaming hot romance. Or, at the very least, I want to bake chocolate chip cookies for him. My husband would approve.

I’ve always loved Mike Holmes’ TV shows about home renovation. Before he got syndicated and started appearing in everyone’s home in North America, before everyone else fell for him, we had something special. He tended to all my (housing) needs. He listened to me. He wanted to ‘Make It Right.’ He always did.

I introduced him to my husband, and they began a bromance. I wasn’t jealous. Things were getting done around the house. Getting done right.

I’m not saying my hubby didn’t know how to do things right around the house. He’s actually a fantastic handyman. But now he’s adding what some would call feminine touches; the extras he used to to guffaw at when he saw them on ‘girly’ home renovation shows.

This past weekend, we watched Holmes Inspection. At the end of the show, an elated woman showed the viewers her closet, complete with dark chocolate baskets that kept everything in their place.

A few years ago, my hubby added wooden shelves and a cabinet to our closet. It was gorgeous, but within weeks, we were just stuffing our clothes, my purses, and other knick knacks on the shelves. I honestly had too much going on to even think about baskets. So it’s my fault too. But this is supposed to be a funny story about the men we love, so let’s get back to that.

Months of girly home renovation shows did nothing for my husband’s imagination, or that closet. But one hour with Mike Holmes and my dear husband was hammering and sawing away in the basement, improving his closet renovation with the passion of a man inspired by art.

That’s not all. Last night, he came home with six dark chocolate baskets under his arm, another dozen in the car, and a smile on his face like a kid’s on Christmas morning.

These were practically the same baskets he had laughed at when some other home renovation experts showed them in their shows. Turns out those home-reno amateurs are easy to ignore. It’s not so easy to ignore Mike Holmes.

And that is why I love the man, and invite him to our home (to make renovations, of course) any time. I know there must be a long line of adoring women who feel the same way.

I’ll wait for you, Mike.

Beautiful Baskets copyright HGS